


Undisclosed

by ghostrunner



Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostrunner/pseuds/ghostrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>history, secretive</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undisclosed

The desk of the Encom CEO isn’t the lite-bright, monolith monstrosity that his father enslaved himself to, that desk is long gone, along with Betamax and leg warmers and, hey, his father, but it’s still a damn big desk. 

Sam Flynn looks good behind it. 

Edward can admit that. He doesn’t lie to himself. 

Sam Flynn looks good behind the desk, if a little out of place. He’s a man who’s comfortable in his own skin but holds himself stiff in a suit like he’s afraid he’ll move wrong and wrinkle the deliberate creases. 

Edward does not have this problem. Edward Dillinger Jr. is too sharp for his own suits. He wears them like he’s barely aware of their existence. 

“Someday,” Flynn tells him, “Someday you’re gonna cut yourself on the edges of your own façade.”

He says this as he slides to his knees, tugging expertly at Edward’s belt, so Edward mostly ignores him. 

“Points for noticing,” he says, running his thumb along Flynn’s lower lip, slipping inside to flick a nail against his teeth. “Few people do.”

It’s possible Flynn tries to say something to that, the man never knows when to shut the fuck up, but Edward is done listening and he chokes off whatever comment was coming with three fingers sliding slow over Sam’s tongue. He sucks at them without complaint and Edward shivers in anticipation. 

He shivers again when Sam gets his pants open and flattens one broad, callused hand over his cock. He fits his thumb under Sam’s chin and presses down with the fingers in his mouth, controlling. Sam, Flynn, makes an unhappy noise but he doesn’t bite. 

“Dillinger,” he says, annoyed, when Edward finally slides his fingers free. 

They call each other by last names. Makes this sound like the continuation of some antique feud that went out with the Trapper Keeper. 

As if this had anything to do with their respective fathers. 

Edward rolls his eyes at him. “Flynn,” he says in response. He leans back a little, the CEO’s desk, Flynn’s desk, a hard line under his ass. 

Flynn shuffles on his knees to follow and Edward would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy that image. 

“Really, man,” Flynn says, sounding so much like old press conference recordings of his father that Edward narrowly resists the urge to strangle him, “you need to loosen up.”

He grins like that’s actually clever but the next thing he does is put one hand on Edward’s hip, wrap the other around his cock, and take him down deep enough that he can’t be breathing in one long slide. 

So rather than tell him that the last thing on earth he’ll be doing is loosening up, Edward slides his hands into Flynn’s hair and tips his head back, groaning. He stares at the ceiling for a minute because he can’t watch this, not if he wants to last. 

When he finally trusts himself to look back down, Sam is looking up at him through his ridiculous lashes, lips wrapped wide around Edward’s cock. The sight of him, on his knees behind his own desk, sucking Edward off like he could do it for days, is a giddy, punch-drunk high better than any pharmaceutical the junior programmers slam in the restrooms. 

“God, you look good like this.” Edward’s voice is half an octave lower than normal, scratchy and ragged like it’s being dragged out of him. Sam drops his eyes and hums in response as Edward uses his grip in his hair to pull him closer, sinking deep until his airway is choked off with cock and holding him there ten, twenty, thirty-five seconds. 

He lets Sam pull off and gasp for breath. Combs his fingers through his hair until Sam leans in again, goes back down without a qualm. 

This would be fun even if Sam wasn’t so good. But not nearly as much. 

Edward runs his fingers along Sam’s cheek, feeling the blunt weight of his own cock though the muscle and skin. “You’re so good,” he murmurs. He slips his thumb into Sam’s mouth alongside, pulling a little at the corner, making everything sloppier and a little more desperate. He’d bet his stock options that Sam’s hard. Untouched and frantic. He always is. 

Sam Flynn looks good behind the Encom CEO’s desk. 

He looks even better bent over it.


End file.
